The Middle
by harvincy
Summary: Zaeed & Bailey form a friendship that has them proving themselves to be goddamn heroes throughout the galaxy. (Terrible at summaries...) Set mid-ME2 through post ME2. 'M' for everything.


((Alright, we start after Thane's companion quest in ME2. Buckle up.))

* * *

-1. First Shot Basis-

Zaeed always had a soft spot for children. He didn't want any, nothing like that, but children were untouchable to him. He would tell me all the time about instances when he'd been faced with having to stare down the barrel of a gun and make the decision as to whether or not he'd have to pull the trigger.

He never did. And it pissed a few people off. But it's also how I caught his eye. Yes, his _**eye**_.

"Lotta trouble if you're found out," he huffed. And I would hear that phrase a lot over the years.

Shepard and her Drell companion had already begun shuffling off, but the mercenary took to leaning a hip against my desk and folding his arms. "Well?"

I decided to entertain him a bit. "Did you ask a question, Sir?"

"Lotta goddamn trouble for a Drell kid you only know shit about."

"Like I said: Father's stepping up, trying to do the right thing. I'm willing to give them a chance. Besides, he's working for _**me**_. There's not a lot of risk involved."

A level gaze. " 'Right." A push of his hip from my desk. "Make a habit of it?"

"Not enough Drell sons with daddy issues runnin' around to make a habit of it."

His chuckle was deep, gruff. "Course... And is this all you do, Captain?"

"Absolutely. There's actually a magnetized chip in my ass that prevents me from leaving this chair unless authorized by Councilor Udina."

"Heh. You're alright, Bailey." And with that, he followed Shepard out of my sight.

"Who _**was**_ that? An old friend?"

I glanced over at a mystified Ginny, obviously not used to any sort of playful nature in my tone. "No one you need to associate with. Did you do I what I told you to?"

"Oh. Yes. Yes, Sir."

"Good. Tell Mitchell to hold down the fort for a minute. I'll be right back."

"Yes, Sir. Are you going to speak with that Drell Kolyat?"

I merely flashed a hard gaze.

"Right. Never mind."

* * *

The exaggeration hadn't been too severe; I truly did feel most of the time that I had a magnet shoved firmly in my ass that kept me secured in that damned C-Sec chair.

I never even bothered checking the clock anymore at that point. About an hour after my eyelids began meeting every other second, I shut down my station, waved goodbye to the night guards, and shuffled off to a small bar that not many people knew about. Or, rather, they knew about it but chose to leave it be. I was fine with that. Meant more solace. Or, well, maybe not solace.

At least it was nothing like Purgatory. It was more reminiscent of old pubs you'd find scattered back on earth.

I slipped into the smoky hovel and flagged the barkeep. Mostly humans that night. Couple of Batarians. Certainly nothing you'd think you'd need to be on guard about. Of course, I was always on guard. Had to be.

"Whiskey straight from the goddamn Attican Beta. There's resources to even do it?"

I knew that voice. The gravelly undertones hit me and lifted my eyes to see the back of the bounty hunter from hours earlier. "Massani?"

Thankfully, I was on his good side, so his eye immediately fell to me without any movement. "Captain Bailey. You slum in the undertow of the Citadel, do you?"

"It would seem only the most interesting folk do. You looking for Attican whiskey?"

He shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "Didn't know they had such a thing until 20 seconds ago."

"No one knows about it; you're standing in the only place that sells it outside of its system of origin."

"Must cost an arm and an ass."

Without having to ask, the bartender handed me a bottle of the alcohol in question along with two shot glasses. "On the house, Captain," was followed by a knowing wink and a dark chuckle from the man beside me.

"I see..." the Mercenary smirked. "C-Sec knows how to get things down. And just get things." Cocking his head, he leads me to a small table in the darkest corner and gestures for me to take a seat as if this was all his doing. "C'mon, Captain. Pour me a drink of that whiskey some smuggler undoubtedly bribed you with."

A chuckle escaped me at that, though there was nothing in me that felt like fighting the sarcasm that began infiltrating the conversation. "Speaking of bribes," I began as I sat across from him, "what kid are they holding hostage to get you to run around in Shepard's shadow?"

The glass had just touched his lips when he hesitated, letting it linger for more than a moment before swigging the clear liquid and muttering, "No kids."

I let it go, changing the subject with a quick, "What do you think? Good for a whiskey you didn't think could exist?"

"The burn's nice. Bit... lighter than I would've liked. But I've yet to meet a whiskey I didn't like."

A comfortable silence settled between us and it was welcomed fully as we two old men settled back in our seats and watched the other patrons filing in and out, order drinks, argue, and just live.

"So, Captain, tell me: What rules do you follow?"

"Most likely the same code you follow, Massani. You know, the one that keeps those around us safe and us old geezers kickin'."

There's another dark chuckle, "Who are you calling old, Captain?"

There was something odd about hearing the hunter next to me say my title and not my name.

I had to remedy that. "Man to man, call me by my name."

"What might that be?"

It was then my turn to chuckle, "A man like you should already know."

Soundlessly, he poured himself another shot and took his time with it, and even in the dim light I could him savouring what he claimed to be weak. "Alright, Armando. And you know what to call me?"

"Something with a 'z'. Zippy?"

There was a bit of armour clanging as he pushed himself away from the small table and stood, downing one final shot. "Call me Zippy in public again and you'll see just how zippy I can be with a gun."

"You cutting out on me?"

"Shepard'll have my hide if I'm not back soon." With a nod, he dropped some credits on the table ("Just in case.") and headed to the door. "Rest well, Armando."

"Don't get shot, Zaeed."

"Heh. Too late, Captain." With that, he slid out into the night.

I was left alone, but I had enough thoughts racing through my head to keep me company. The main question being why Zaeed Massani, of all people, shared a drink with me.

Then it hit me: Free drinks.

"Ah," I muttered to myself. "Makes sense now."

I decided to just see if he'd indulge me with another drink again.


End file.
